


Organisation of Dynamic Material

by pulpedeva



Category: The Charioteer - Mary Renault
Genre: Blackmail, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Light-Hearted, M/M, No Angst, Pre-Canon, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 08:22:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17362451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pulpedeva/pseuds/pulpedeva
Summary: How Bunny got to Bridstow.  He was up to his old tricks.





	Organisation of Dynamic Material

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Greer Watson (greerwatson)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerwatson/gifts).



Bunny dressed in the dark. He decided to allow himself just one cigarette with his morning tea and felt around for his packet of Goldflakes, lit one with difficulty, his hands were freezing, and now perched rigidly on the chair by the kitchen window staring out over the streets of Paddington.

Usually, he hated every morning, was sick of the routine of dressing, work at the factory offices, then bed, with nothing in between to excite him but his Saturday nights in Soho. He knew he was due more than this. But now, oh now, there was a little glimmer of hope. He turned his attention to thoughts of Mr.Lewin, fluffed his curls a little and drew deeply on his cigarette. He was going to savour every moment of today.

But by six o’clock in the morning, having dawdled a little too long over his cup of tea, he now had to hurry. He slipped casually along the streets, determined not to appear ruffled, and queued for a while in the pie shop opposite. This is the last time, he thought, as he ate his pie somewhat inelegantly on the street outside the shop, that I will have to do this. No more bitter morning starts, at last the life he should have had hung tantalisingly before him.

He was booted out of his daydream by the lumbering approach of the 32 bus along Praed Street and fought his way inside, elbows poking at anyone who was too slow ahead of him, shoved his hair back as it was flopping slightly already, cursed the damp air, and climbed up to the top deck. The bus moved on, heaving across the ice and passing the top of his street. He looked along it at the row of narrow terraced houses, each fenced in by a tiny barricade of railings, a few steps elevating them from the ground and the tight pavement before them. How near they all were to each other; a hundred lives crushed together divided only by a few crumbling bricks. Peering down the street furtively, as if he were leaving the scene of a crime, Bunny was pricked by resentment. If only his mother had done better for herself. He was being left to sort things out, on his own behalf at least. He sighed and looked about him.

On the other side of the aisle, sat a tall young woman. He admired the thick oiled hair that curled over her head and the fur that draped languidly from a bony shoulder. He envisaged himself alongside her, ambling through London’s museums, stopping to dine in some exclusive hotel, dapper, done-up in one of Saville Row’s finest. The fact that there was a war on barely registered. He had such taste, it was too irritating that he had so little opportunity to indulge it. Better still, if he were a woman, that’s what he would be, prosperous, playing with beaus, teasing them, dropping them, skipping through life with a discarded trail of lovers behind him. It was unfair that people were so judgemental when a boy behaved in the same way.

The bus lurched and he turned his attention back to the plan for the day at work. He knew of course, that Mr. Lewin had been giving off all kinds of signals, who wouldn’t be enamoured of Bunny’s charm, but he had to play it carefully. One slip and he’d be back outside the Labour Exchange. It didn’t bear thinking about.

Inspiration had come to him only a few nights before. Being on the receiving end of one of Mr.Lewin’s heated glances in his direction, had made him ponder the idea. He was thoroughly sick of his job. He knew he deserved better. Those two salient points combined with only one possible outcome. Bunny would get a better job. But there were other’s in line more fitting than himself. He would have to use all the talents at his disposal. He caught his reflection in the dark window. Even at this filthy hour he looked sweet, hair back with just a hint of curl, large eyes all guileless. It would work.

The bus pulled into the flat, white esplanade of the Great West Road, as dawn broke like a messy egg yolk over the forecourt of Burgoyne Wireless Ltd. Bunny capered up the stairs, you never knew who may be looking down out of those crittal windows, pushed his hair back in a manner he knew to be winning and lolled through the doors, pausing only to tip the doorman a wink. He was satisfied to see a small nod in response. Things were going to plan.

 

Bunny swung along the corridor to Mr.Lewin’s office at precisely five o’clock in the afternoon. He knew that he wouldn’t be expected, and Bunny was a great believer in the element of surprise. By his calculations he had about ten minutes to work up to it and if Davis did his job properly, here Bunny thought sourly of the knocked off brandy that he had had to bribe him with, then at around five ten it would all kick off.

He knocked, a little tentatively, it was fun playing the ingenue, and came into the room with an expression of nervous regret and confusion on his face. “I’m so sorry to bother you,” he begun and added with afterthought, “sir.”

“Not at all, not at all.” Mr. Lewin smiled expansively, beringed hand gesturing to the seat before his desk.

Bunny sat. It was hard to sustain any standards in a reach-me-down suit, but he was always game for trying. “I’m afraid, sir, that I didn’t know who else to turn to.” He tried for just the right air of vulnerable and stoic, too wet and he’d look a drip.

“Hmm, what’s the trouble?” Bunny detected that Mr.Lewin looked ever so slightly uncommitted.

“It’s just that,” reluctant pause, “well, the others have been saying things.” He stopped as if it would pain him to go on. Bunny eyed the walnut table which he sat behind. It was so smooth. He reached out, as if absently and ran his finger along it with a loving caress. He knew his hands were fine and elegant looking and that the gesture was both suggestive but also pleasurable, he really did like the glossy veneer.

“Come on, boy, out with it!” Impatience bloomed slowly in Mr.Lewin’s ruddy cheek.

“Oh, I don’t know if I can say it. It’s too dreadful.” Mr. Lewin was going to have to work harder than that.

“Ah, lads giving you a hard time, are they?” Mr.Lewin dispensed distracted sympathy.

It was all very having a face like a Caravaggio but one had to know how to use it. Bunny looked up through his lashes.

Mr.Lewin began to look a little disconcerted. “Well, don’t take it to heart.” He tapped the desk lightly, unsure where to take the conversation.

But time was ticking away and there was still no sign of Davies. For God’s sake, Bunny thought petulantly, he’d only asked him to deliver an envelope, contents undisclosed, to Mr.Lewin at five ten, not bring in the Vice Squad! What was taking him so long? The letter, a brilliant and anonymous concoction of Bunny’s, full of veiled insinuations, was supposed to coincide with Bunny’s fortuitous presence at Mr.Lewin’s elbow. Coupled with the seeds of doubt he was attempting to sew, Lewin would fall headlong and all would follow. He would offer to help Mr. Lewin silence the trouble makers in return for a better job at the factory offices. The fact that the thought of untoward behaviour on Mr.Lewin’s part had occurred to precisely nobody on the factory floor, made it all the more gleefully rewarding.

“Well, I think they suspect you of, um...” Bunny stopped, looked down, looked up, “being inappropriate.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” Mr.Lewin burst out indignantly, piqued at last.

“Oh, I know,” said Bunny soothingly, “of course, you’d never.” He looked down again, nearly there, “it’s just, well, they’re making things horrid for me.” He said, as if he could contain it no longer, “because, because, there’s been some terrible talk, and well, they know that I like you and…” he stopped, head in hands.

Mr.Lewin was all concern. He moved swiftly across the walnut expanse and patted Bunny’s hand. “Now, dear boy,” he began, but Bunny was quicker, he touched the hand and brought it to his cheek, all the while both delighted and repulsed by his performance.

Now, things had taken a surprising turn! Bunny was nothing if not resourceful. “I feel, sometimes,” he bit his lip for effect, “that perhaps the others, well they don’t understand.” He held Mr.Lewin’s gaze meaningfully.

Mr. Lewin went pink.

The next few minutes passed in a positively farcical manner. Every time Mr.Lewin reached for him, Bunny swatted him away like a put upon secretary, careful to keep the balance between coquettish and bemused. He allowed himself, for the sake of appearances, to begin to get a little roughed up. Mr. Lewin was taller than him and far bulkier. Nobody would believe that Bunny had a chance against that weight. He smiled to himself as the tussle went on. It was surprisingly enjoyable. Bunny looked at his watch again, five fifteen. Now if only Davies would get a move on as agreed.

“You’re a little tease, aren’t you?” Mr Lewin’s breathed heavily on to him, a not unpleasant scent of whiskey and cigar and his expression bore a glimmer of enlightenment.

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

Mr. Lewin, rousing himself to the game, clamped Bunny’s cheeks a little painfully between meaty hands and leaned forward triumphantly to place a smacker right on his lips.

The door opened.

Davies, who had only been prepped to appear with a letter, stood flushed and dumbfounded. Mr.Lewin leapt back and pushed Bunny away with considerable force so that they both stumbled.

“For you, sir,” said Davies gruffly, handing it over and backing out rapidly. He caught Bunny’s eye, Bunny looked dejected and ashamed but had the inspiration to raise a quick finger to his lips and shake his head. Davies would be far too embarrassed to let on to anyone what he’d witnessed. But Mr.Lewin on the other hand, needed just one more push.

“I don’t know what he thought he saw,” Bunny put a hand on Mr.Lewin’s sleeve, “but I can assure you, I’ll keep mum.” He smiled prettily at him.

The letter hung limply from Mr.Lewin’s hands. It was just one more thing to serve Bunny’s cause when the rest had been carried off, spontaneously, to perfection, but at this moment it was barely needed. Mr.Lewin slumped heavily into his chair, he looked worn out by the excitement and the horrific puncturing of his libido at its crowning moment.

Bunny almost took pity. Yet he was but a step away from success. “People will talk though,” he shook his head sadly. “I’d hate to be the cause of any trouble.”

“No, quite.” Mr. Lewin still sat dumbly in his chair.

He wasn’t cottoning on fast enough. Bunny was going to have to spell it out. “Of course, I wouldn’t ask this of anyone else, but…”

“What do you want?” The game was up. Mr.Lewin looked defeated and sad.

“Oh, it’s not what I want,” Bunny caught his eye and turned away with a wounded expression. He knew how well his profile looked, particularly if he jutted his jaw a little to remove all disquieting suspicion of a double chin, “it’s what’s best.”

Realisation dawned, “How much?” said Mr.Lewin looking thoroughly demoralised.

“Oh, no, that’s not it at all!” Bunny smiled, all frank and disarming, “I was thinking, just perhaps it’d be better if I moved to a different area, if you catch my drift, somewhere more…appropriate?”

For a moment Mr.Lewin looked taken aback. But he reached for the headed paper and began writing a letter of introduction. There was bemusement in his face but also relief. He was unsure if he had been subjected to a huge con, but the sooner this piece of work moved on the better. He handed the letter over with a forced smile and sat back with a palpitating chest as Bunny beamed and left.

At the foot of the steps of the Burgoyne Wireless Ltd offices, Bunny hailed a cab, one of the first and last times he would do so and went straight to Soho. He had something to celebrate.

 

Bunny had been awake since dawn, doing nothing but savouring the thought that things had gone rather well. So many satisfying imaginings wrapped themselves around him, that by the time he reached across to the night stand for another swig of milk of magnesia, it was nearly ten o’clock.

He got up smartly, threw his clothes on again, examined his face quickly for signs of injury or excess, dabbed a little Max Factor, kept for such emergencies, on his brow and cheekbone to cover any redness and opened the bedroom door with a flourish.

In the parlour, his mother and a couple of simpering old ladies were drinking tea. He always played them all shamelessly, basking in the reflection in their eyes, of a dashing and attentive bachelor. Hilarious that they had no inkling of his nature.

He beamed at them as he sauntered up, hands firmly in his pockets, which he knew gave him an insouciant and yet amiable air.

“I’ve been telling the girls how you got back past midnight last night!” His mother gave him a look. In the past it would have panicked him, coming as a prelude to a dressing down about something or other, but this time he smiled.

“Ooh Bunny, you are a naughty boy!” twinkled one of the ladies.

“Only when I have to be, Marjorie,” he twinkled back, pushing his hair off his forehead so that his bone structure was shown off to good effect. Marjorie giggled.

“What were you up to? Giving some girl the run around?” Marjorie was on the case. She arched a brow, encouraging more. Bunny’s tales of nights out in Soho clubs and the dazzling girls that he invariably led on but dumped, they were never good enough to meet his old mum, were the stuff of legend in Sale Place.

“Well, I was celebrating.” He leaned against the kitchen counter and flashed them all a smile. His moment had come. “I’m moving. I’ve been promoted.”

There was a squeal of excitement and a flurry of hands clasped.

His mother looked both suspicious and vindicated. “Well, that’s a turn up! Didn’t I say he was doing well for himself?” She caught a few eyes with steely determination and they nodded their assent. If any question had ever been raised as to the prospects of the charming son, it had been answered most roundly.

“And where are we losing you to then?” said Marjorie with a little moue that wrinkled the thin lips most unattractively.

“Bridstow,” Bunny said nonchalantly, although he wasn’t sure himself where it was.

**Author's Note:**

> From Greerwatson's prompt about Bunny pov fic! Not getting any comeuppance this time but maybe next? Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Particularly inspired by Bunny’s;
> 
> “I shouldn’t take that tone, if I were you.” This thought Laurie, is what he doesn’t tell everyone. The practised inflection held many chapters of inadvertent autobiography.
> 
> No idea what Bunny was instructing Ralph in at the Station, but I’ve assumed it was something to do with radios, as many of us have. And from there a short hop back to his early career at Burgoyne Wireless Ltd, which did exist in the 1930’s on the Golden Mile on the Great West Road in London.
> 
> Title taken from a chapter in the 1947 pamphlet ‘Elements of Radio Servicing’ by William Marcus.


End file.
